


Light Me Up Again

by MarcellaBianca



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Sex, Boys Kissing, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Hand Jobs, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca/pseuds/MarcellaBianca
Summary: "You - you and me - we-" Bucky spits, all piss and fury.Steve's heart crashes to his feet. "Bucky-""Tell me," Bucky rasps, metal plates shifting in his arm underneath the fabric of his long sleeved shirt.Steve can't hold it in. It's like lying to God. "Yes. Yes. You and me."





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt fill: "The winter soldier is starting to get his memories back and visiting Steve. Sometimes he doesn't talk. Sometimes he can't shut up. A lot of his stories scare Steve. But as more Bucky shows through, Steve has more and more hope. But the winter soldier still hasn't remembered who Steve is exactly. But the winter soldier is angry the more and more he remembers. After somehow ending up having angry sex with Steve he's flooded with Steve memories. Bucky emerges more and has hope for the future."

He visits only at night. 

There are times Steve wishes Bucky (or maybe he can't call this person Bucky; he might not want to believe it) would come to him in the daytime. He wants to see that face, limned with age and scars buried deep under the surface, in the clear light of some brave morning. It never happens. 

The time of night always differs. He'll wake to a shadow in the corner of the room, next to a window Steve swore he'd latched before going to bed. Or he'll put his keys down after a day at SHIELD and be aware of a presence at his kitchen table. 

At first he was silent. Watchful. Steve never pushed. He sat and stared back, knowing one wrong word would trigger or terrify the man out the window or reaching for one of the many weapons he carried. 

One night the man speaks, "I'm supposed to know you." It would have been easier to just throw a knife. The words stick harder to the underside of Steve's rib. Flesh of flesh. 

But he just nods. "It's alright if you don't just yet." He tacks that on as hope. The man vanishes. 

Another time, Steve wakes to the man hunched in the corner of his bedroom, rocking back and forth. He's silent. 

* * *

 

"You were a terrible student," the man rants, while Steve just stares. "There was a woman with red hair - she slapped your knuckles something awful. I wanted to punch her in the eyeteeth for hurting you. Why? Why do I want to hurt her?"

* * *

  
"You know what they did to me?"

"I read some of the files."

"Lot that ain't in those files."

The man gets to the feel of a boot crushing into his cheek before Steve cuts him off. The man leaves. Steve vomits. 

The next time he lets him finish. Bucky lived it. He can hear it. 

* * *

  
He doesn't tell Natasha. Or Sam. He tells Bruce. 

"I figured you would know...."

"What it's like to have no control? Yeah. I do."

Steve stares out of the lab window, to Central Park in the distance. "Why is he doing this?"

Bruce is quiet. That's okay. Steve doesn't need an answer. 

* * *

  
Sometimes the man laughs. "What the hell kind of a name is Bucky, anyway?"

"James Buchanan Barnes. Your ma and Dad were Irish Catholic."

"I remember church on Sundays. Sometimes we'd get doughnuts."

"Yeah, the stale ones."

"We were dirt fucking poor, huh?"

"We were happy."

Steve would've worn nothing but rags if it meant staying by Bucky's side. Something lights up in his chest; a cousin to hope.

* * *

  
Bucky stops coming after a night where some of the memories had him punching a hole in Steve's wall. Steve lets him go. He doesn't know what else to do. Doesn't know what else he's good for in this world other than loving and losing Bucky. 

* * *

  
Three weeks later he's headed to bed when Steve hears a vicious pounding on the door. He opens it to find an absolutely livid Bucky, wild-eyed and blood hot like he hasn’t slept in days. "You."

"Buck?" For he'd been trying to call him Bucky. 

"You - you and me - we-" Bucky spits, all piss and fury.

Steve's heart crashes to his feet. "Bucky-"

"Tell me," Bucky rasps, metal plates shifting in his arm underneath the fabric of his long sleeved shirt.

Steve can't hold it in. It's like lying to God. "Yes. Yes. You and me."

He waits. The clock in his hallway gives off six ticks. Six seconds. Six little infinities. 

Bucky's mouth crashes against his so hard Steve has to scramble for purchase against his foyer wall. The brunet's lips are like kissing the sun, burning Steve alive before he can even come up with anything approaching a response that doesn’t include kissing him back. All he can do is open his mouth and guts and soul and let Bucky in the way he always has and always will, forever. 

He will never stop living for this man no matter what shape or form. The beautiful young upstart with the constantly scraped knees; the handsome dance hall regular who came home to Steve's arms every night; the haunted soldier who leaned into him like a pillar of strength. Steve needs Bucky like an inhaler.

He breathes Bucky in now as Steve’s arms move to wrap around his middle, a practiced dance they've both memorized across time. Bucky's still angrily pushing his mouth against Steve's and the only thing Steve can do is sink, helpless. The kiss is confused, 

He wants Bucky to take him apart. Doesn't even care if the pieces don't go back together again. 

Bucky's mouth blazes a trail down his neck, sucking marks into the his jaw on through to collarbone. Within moments he's on his knees, ripping open Steve's pants, and Steve should tell him to stop, knows this is probably all a little too much for Bucky's scrambled brain to take, but Jesus, Jesus, he's selfish. "Do it," he urges, broken, so fond. His mind floods with the desperate post-dance hall blowjobs he’d get when Bucky, drunk on gin and hot lights, would slam him up against their apartment door and take him apart, whispering promises that they knew would never come true against velvet skin.

Bucky's eyes are still crazed as he yanks Steve's pants and boxers down in one smooth stroke; Steve's been hard, rock hard, since their lips met. Bucky looks at Steve's cock like he's recognizing how to handle something familiar, but there's no hesitation as he swallows him down near to the root. 

"Fuck!" Steve's back pushes hard against the wall, heat filling his groin at the unbearable joy and sorrow of Bucky's wet mouth stretched around him. Bucky’s brain is supplying him with every trick he’d accumulated over years of sex and intimacy with Steve’s body - he’s twisting his wrist like he was born to suck Steve’s cock. In a way, maybe, he was, Steve’s brain supplies arrogantly. Just as Steve was born to serve Bucky. Everything he’s ever done in his goddamn strange life has been for the man on his knees. Jesus, on his knees for HIM, like Steve ever did anything worth a damn for him. He let him fall.

He isn’t going to last long at this pace and he taps the side of Bucky’s head to warn him. Bucky shakes his head and keeps going. The realization that Bucky wants him to spill in his mouth sets Steve off like a gun. Thunder and waves crashing around his ears. His hips jerk, nearly choking Bucky on his dick as he swallows everything. He sobs out a breath, unaware he’s actually crying until he wipes his face and comes away with tears as well as sweat. Hands find Bucky’s armpits and yank him up to taste himself and Bucky on Bucky’s tongue. Bucky goes, body still thrumming like a live wire with what Steve can only assume is anger until he realizes Bucky is trembling. “Buck?” 

“I remember...I remember...” Bucky shakes his head like he’s got water in his ears. “I...”

“Shhh, I got you.” Steve’s voice shakes as he slips a hand down, past the waistband of Bucky’s loose-fitting jeans, pops the buttons to get to his boxers. “I’ve always got you, you know that.”

He presses his mouth to Bucky’s, a prayer, a promise, as his fingers speak the language he’s memorized since sixteen. Yes. This was us. This will always be us, if you want it to be. He tries to convey all of this as his hand slips backhanded down over Bucky’s cock and Bucky does a full body shudder. 

He remembers every little thing he can do to make Bucky feel good, to make Bucky shoot off hard. He can’t say he loves him out loud just yet, doesn’t want to scare him off, but he hopes Bucky can feel it. I’ve loved you since before I knew what love was, his eyes whisper, boring into Bucky’s as the brunet’s gaze morphs from fright to something infinitely more terrifying - remembrance.

He slumps against Steve as the orgasm hits, pistons his hips in forgotten afterjerks. Steve’s touch becomes tender. He presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “I got you,” he whispers, over and over again. “I got you.”

Bucky still looks a little feral but more like a child that’s been rescued after living with the wolves so long he’s become wild himself. Like he’s trying to figure out a new world that terrifies him. Steve wants to curl around him forever and never let go. 

He breaks away just long enough to find a washcloth, cleans Bucky up. Bucky watches him with careful eyes. When Steve finishes, Bucky looks at him for a long, interminable moment. 

Then he’s gone.

* * *

 

Two months later Steve’s waking up to Bucky seated on a chair in the corner of his bedroom. Light pours in from the window. It takes a minute for Steve to realize what’s happening. “Buck?” he croaks, hardly daring to believe.

Bucky’s mouth quirks up at the ends. Not quite a smile, but definitely not a frown. “Hi, punk.”

Wild, reckless hope blooms in Steve’s chest. “Jerk.”

Bucky’s smile deepens. “Missed you, Stevie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Man this one was fun. I love angsty Stucky!
> 
> Come give me prompts on my [tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


End file.
